


While The Ages Steal

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Middle Ages, Moral Bankruptcy, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-02-24 03:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13204443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: The royal house is divided and amid the swirl of plots and intrigue the small divides become chasms. To halt his son's progress on the political stage, the king takes drastic measures. Only that such is human nature, one cannot control a variety of salient details resulting in failure of even the best laid plans.Pushed into a match she neither envisions, nor desires, a young lady finds herself at the heart of a complicated familial rapport, a piece of driftwood carried upon strong currents, fearing the eventual fallout that is doubtlessly near.AU! Lyanna Stark is fully aware her husband is being punished for whatever wrong there is he's done. What she cannot understand is why she, an innocent, suffers a similar fate.





	1. i - (en)during snows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlondieRose96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlondieRose96/gifts).



> IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!
> 
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_275 AL_

_Winterfell, The North_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna heaved a sigh and turned on her side. She'd heard the wind howling without deep into the night. That had been the night before. It must have stormed. It must have been for poor Benjen had been so very frightened that he'd somehow ended up in her bedchamber, stealing all of her furs and kicking her to the far end of the bed. She winced at the slight pain caused by her movement and buried her face in one of the pillows.

She could yet have her vengeance on him. She reached out for the bunched furs, dragging one or two away from her brother. She slipped them around her shoulders and climbed out of bed gingerly, fitting her feet into the slippers awaiting upon the carpeted floors.

The dying embers released the whisper of a rapidly-greying light. She neared the hearth, peering into the mound of ash. The poker resting upon the bricks near its mouth had been used recently. She could tell by the dust clinging to it. Lyanna picked it up and took a few jabs at stirring the cinders. They parted and fell to the side, the small knoll splitting in uneven halves. She leaned further in and blew on the dust. It flew towards the back of the hearth in light waves, cinders rekindling faintly before dying out again.

The chamber was warm enough even without the fire, but mother had insisted. She had ordered the fires lit in her children's chambers. Lyanna scrunched her nose and stood up, dusting herself off with both hands. Since she'd not bothered to clean her hands beforehand all she managed to do was smear the chemise she wore. A small sound of annoyance escaped her lips. If she asked one of the servant girls to wash it for her, they could dry it before a fire in the kitchens. Surely mother would not be very cross.

With that in mind, she stepped away from the hearth and to her small chest at the end of the bed. A fresh chemise along with a thick woollen dress and various other items had been left out for her. She changed with haste, pulling on her stockings. Once done, she moved to the looking glass, picking up the comb. Her other hand busily tugged on the ribbon tying her plait together.

Her morning ritual went on uninterrupted and she even managed to braid her hair as well as Nan might have had she known Lyanna was up and about. Turning her attention to her brother, she climbed up next to him and grabbed hold of his shoulder. She shook him lightly. "Come on, sleepyhead. Mother shan't be happy to find you here. If you go now, you can sneak back to your own bed."

Benjen moaned, clearly distressed at the prospect of having to brave the corridors of Winterfell where not only Nan abided, but their lady mother along with grandmother Arya, and if they were truly unlucky grandmother Marna would decide to take some fresh air. She would not let him wallow though. Lyanna shook him yet again, ripping the furs from his grip. "Up you go."

Her brother pushed her hands away but did her bidding. "You just wait until Ned come to visit. I'll tell him about this." He jumped out of bed, landing as gracelessly as a drunken cat.

"Didn't you bring your slippers?" And was also barefoot. Benjen gave her a look lacking in comprehension. "'Tis not the time to be walking around barefoot, stupid." Without another word, she pulled off her own shoes and threw them at him over the divide. "Put those on."

Though thoroughly ungrateful for her sisterly care, Benjen was not stupid enough to refuse her aid. He tugged on the too-large slippers and tied the laces around his ankles. If he were to run they would surely still fall off. Lyanna giggled at the sight. "Come along, lazybones, before we get in trouble."

Benjen grunted something which she did not find complimentary at all. But Lyanna let it slide. It would not do get into some manner of squabble this early on. Instead she drew nearer to the door and plastered her ear against the hard wood, hoping to catch something, anything, a sign of any sort on the other side, indicating the state of the of the other residents. There was nothing for her however. She pushed even harder against the wood. To no avail.

"I'll go out and make certain you can get to your chamber safely." Her brother nodded. Trusting he would sit behind while she dealt with the potential dangers without, Lyanna cracked the door open just a tad. Enough to peer through into the hall.

There was no one about. She poked her head without, slowly moving it to and fro. Still, no danger reared its own head back in greeting. She opened the door wider and walked into the hallway. No servant came even when she noisily ran from her bedchamber to Benjen's opening the door with a long, loud screech. She glanced over her shoulder.

Benjen was standing in her doorway. He gave her a questioning stare. As though the words were stuck in his throat, he looked from doorway to doorway and shrugged. Lyanna gave an easy nod, motioning for him to hurry over. There was very little she could do if they were caught and mother was sure to be vexed.

Having assured himself no great danger awaited without, Benjen put his trust in her a little reluctantly before crossing the distance between them. She would have chided him but for the fact that the last time it had been her fault they were caught and father had threatened to exile her poor brother to servitude and certain doom in the house of Lord Bolton. Lyanna had heard they flayed people; Nan told her that she could ask anyone and they would confirm it for her. Besides, if Benjen were to squire for any lord, then father ought to send him to a respectable one who had knighthood to bestow.

Finally safe within his chamber, Benjen clambered atop his bed and huddled beneath the furs. "You can go now," he said, giving her a small smile by means of expressing gratitude, she supposed. She nodded.

Making her way back was about as easy as entering Benjen's chamber had. She grabbed her stained shift and rolled it into a messy ball of cloth. One more look about her bedchamber confirmed all was in its place. Certain her brother's antics would not bring them any grief, she put on her boots, confident mother would not take notice if she was careful not to kick her heels up, which there was little chance of her doing something so very lacking in decorum.

Lyanna climbed down the stairs, taking them one by one, counting in her head, trying to see how far she could get. Maester Walys had insisted she know all numbers up to a hundred and he'd begun teaching her sums from a small ledger. What she would do with those, Lyanna was not certain, for mother ever so rarely looked at ledgers, preferring to leave it to father. But then, mother, she'd heard grandmother Marna say ever so clear in her frustration, had ever been the flighty, disinterested sort. Whatever that meant.

A striped tabby scurried past her, momentarily distracting her from the task at hand. Lyanna wondered whether grandmother Arya had left the door to her bedchamber open yet again. Father did so grow annoyed with the cats milling about. Deciding against further investigation, she stared down upon the unwinding flight of stairs. She'd forgotten what number she was on. Might be she could count another day. If she did not hurry she would be in trouble at any rate.

Lyanna raced the last leg of the journey, very much afraid she would slip and fall. Fortunately that was not the case and she made it to the kitchens just in time to see one of the younger servant women dusting off her apron. "Flora," she called out excitedly. "You have returned."

Flora turned towards her. "That I have m'lady," she replied, a grin upon her lips. She spied the bundle Lyanna carried. "And what is that I see, m'lady? We's in a spot of trouble, aye?"

"Just a spot," she confirmed, having the good grace to blush. "I was trying to mind the fire." Flora tasked softly before taking the dirtied chemise from her grasp. "I didn't mean to. I was trying to help."

"There, there, lambkin, no need for tears." She hadn't been aware she was allowing tears to fall. Lyanna brought one hand up and certain enough, moisture had gathered at the corners of her eyes. She wiped at it frantically. Only small babes cried. She had long since become a young lady. Lyanna sniffled softly to her eternal mortification.

"Now, you leave this in my care, m'lady, and have no fear, Flora will see you safe through." With that securing promise to brace her against potential unpleasantness, Lyanna gave a cheerful nod and pressed without the kitchens, minding that the Cook did not find her wandering about. She'd told her a thousand times it seemed that the kitchens were no place for a child.

Once safe in the hallway, Lyanna watched for any of her close kin. And a good thing too, for grandmother Arya was just climbing down the stairs, tabby in her arms. "Lyanna, dearling, what are you doing up so early?"

"I was hungry." A fib of the highest order. She was not looking forward to the honeyed porridge she could still fell the scent of. Her stomach protested that option. Might be there would be some cold meats she could partake in.

"Hungry, you say?" She held out one hand, which Lyanna caught with ease. Grandmother squeezed her fingers between her own. "And you came down all on your own, dressed and combed and with your boot on, no less?"

"Aye, grandmother." That was not a fib. Lyanna just hoped she would not be asked after the reason for her preparations. Grandmother allowed the cat in her arms to jump to safety. "She's getting away, grandmother. Cook will be so angry." Her words, perfectly accurate considering her grandmother's pet having sneaked her way into the kitchen.

"She can look after herself, dearling. Now, let the two of us go to the hall and see whether your father is up." As good as her word, Lady Arya brought her before father. "My lord, up bright and early, I see. Greet your father, poppet."

"Good morrow, lord father." She leaned in for a small peck on the cheek and returned the affectionate gesture before making for her own seat.

Her luck, however, had run out. A bow of porridge was placed before her along with a small jug of honey. Lyanna stared at it with mild distaste. "What shall we do about your brother, young lady? He seems to have lost his way yet again."

"I am certain he will find his way, lord father," she allowed, reaching out for a slice of freshly baked bread. One side had already been buttered. That saved her some work. She took a big bite and turned her attention to the porridge. Her grandmother lifted the pitcher and began pouring honey onto her porridge.

"There you go, dearling. Be sure to eat well. It is the most important meal of the day, after all." Excepting supper, Lyanna should guess. Her grandmother at times neglected to break her fast with them, however, she'd yet to miss a supper meal.

Dipping her spoon into the porridge, she stirred her meal without much vigour. She might be able to slip away without eating it all. Lyanna brought the spoon to her lips. It was too sweet. Her teeth would rot and fall off doubtlessly. The thought was enough to make all her teeth ache. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

Mother found her way into the hall as well, her appearance interrupting more than her reluctant swallowing. Father stood and as was his custom invited his lady to her seat, a question upon his lips. "You did not happen to run into our son on your way, did you?"

"Indeed not, my lord," she answered, taking a moment to arrange her skirts, the thin embroidered lace adornments shivering with her every movement. "I will send Ellyn after him." Ellyn Flint had just then entered the hall, as though summoned by her mistress' voice. Lyanna smiled at the woman who gave her a warm greeting. "There she is now. Ellyn, do not sit, you must go and bring Benjen down to break his fast with the rest of us."

The plight of the lesser member of a lesser house, Lyanna considered not without a hint of compassion directed at her kin. Ellyn Flint was so much more like those ladies in Nan's tales. Lyanna's gaze slid to her mother, radiant in her newest kirtle. "Lyanna, pray do not rest your elbows upon the table," her mother's voice drew her out of her haze. Her elbows fell away.

She was saved from further observations by the arrival of her brother. With an appropriate mien tinged with sleepiness, her brother climbed into his seat, the murmur on a greeting upon his lips. Ellyn sat at his side, busying herself with filling his plate. "Benjen, how many times must I remind you? The early bird catches the worm." Her brother worried his lower lip between his teeth. "Ellyn, do not sweeten his porridge."

If her poor brother were the sort to weep, he would have right then. Lyanna pushed her own bowl gently forth and sent an imploring look Ellyn's way. The woman gave an almost imperceptible nod before she moved her attention to the food before her. She reached out for a cup, the speed causing her to knock it over. A small yelp left the woman's lips as their mother jumped from her seat.

"Ellyn!" Her voice cracked slightly, as it always did when she was annoyed. The companion hurried to clean away the evidence of her clumsiness. Clearly mother was not at all pleased with having her good wine so callously spilled. The red droplets dripped to the ground, breaking upon the hard flagstones. What did not manage to run itself into the ground soaked into the tablecloth.

To Lyanna's great relief the woman had the foresight to switch her bowl for Benjen's. She could endure swallowing a few more mouthfuls of stale porridge and after that, mother would doubtlessly want them off to their play so she could rest.

Benjen mounted his gratitude when mother was not looking. Lyanna had the faint impression that their father had caught onto their little ploy. Nevertheless, he did not betray them, choosing instead to engage his wife in conversation, stealing her attention away from unsweetened porridge and elbows upon the table.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The snowball smacked into the side of her face. "Enough of that. We should organise a hunt," Axel suggested while his younger brother Gunnar came running back with a small collection of sticks in his hand.

"Hunter and game is no fun with you," complained the fair Gida. "And I am always prey." She pouted. Lyanna was almost certain they somehow managed to rig the selection when she picked. For herself, she had no trouble being prey. She rather enjoyed uncovering a good spot to hide away as the hunters searched.

"Then go home and mind the new babe," her brother taunted. Edric had thus far valiantly resisted his sister's never-ending stream of complaints. "We can play just fine without."

"I am not going home!" Gida slapped a hand to her brother's shoulder before pushing him gently away. "I'll draw first," she told Axel, approaching his sibling. "Hold those up, Gunnar." She took her time, inspecting the selection before her with such seriousness that Lyanna began to worry they would not get their game after all.

Nonetheless, the pull must have been much too hard to resist, for the girl closed her eyes and took a chance. She held her stick up after, parting her eyelids. A triumphant smile split the tension as her shout of unadulterated joy reverberated through the clearing. "I am going to be hunter this time around."

Lyanna took her turn after. She could more or less see from the length of her stick that she would not be a hunter along with Gida. Which suited her just fine. Benjen came after her, followed by Axel, along with Alan who had somehow escaped his duties in the stables. Which left only Edric. Each called out their respective roles after measuring the sticks against each other.

"Now then," Lyanna said, "you do the counting," she pointed to the hunters, "and we will see to our own business." They agreed upon a number which suited all of them and without further ado, split into two very distinct groups, each with a mission of their own.

The game, bedecked in small twigs for antlers and patched cloaks for down, made their way to a more secluded area. Lyanna, having fallen into step with Alan, invited him along for a trip to the crypts. "Gida fears ghasts and spiders. The crypts will keep us safe."

"Why not take your brother then?" Alan asked, brushing hay from his threadbare coverings. She could not help but look down at the worn boots he made use of. Too big for him by far. She offered the boy a smile nevertheless.

"My brother cannot abide the dark. Come with me," Lyanna pressed yet again. Alan caved in with a small sigh, confessing that he too nursed a slight dislike of darkness. Put before such an earnest admission, she allowed herself to confide in him. "'Tis fine then, we can light a sconce or two."

They separated from the larger group. Not that it would matter, for the prey always ended up going off in small fragments of humanity to make the hunt all the harder for their playmates. And the crypts were large enough to provide ample opportunity for long chases along with tense searches.

Glancing up at the sky, Lyanna took just a moment to admire the gathering clouds, darkening what should have been a light canvas. Alan hurried her along. "They will catch up fast," her companion warned. She could but nod and pick her skirts up to allow for better speed.

"The crypts are just ahead." The crypts were, naturally, reserved for the members of House Stark and no servant would dare step within outside their betters' word. But in such serious matters, Lyanna did not feel at all guilty about leading the boy into the collection of sombre hallways. The kings and lords of old lined the walls, watching them with cold, dead eyes. Fitting, considering lot a single one of them was breathing any longer.

"There," she pointed to an effigy whose features were relatively clear in the low torchlight, "that is my grandfather. Next to him lies my uncle. I never knew him."

She moved towards the wall where a torch burned. Reaching out, she rose on her tiptoes. Unfortunately, her lack of height kept her from her prize. Alan, pushed her to the side with a quiet explanation. "I can do that." As good as his word, he pulled down the torch.

"Light a few more while I close the doors," she instructed, moving back to the entrance, covering their tracks. "It started snowing," she called over her shoulder. "That ought to keep them from us for a little while." The door shut with a loud groaning sound.

"Give it a little time," Alan advised, looking for a moment as though he were in pain. Lyanna pursed her lips, considering his words. "They will find us eventually." Well of course, provided they did not figure it on their own, Benjen could always give them a few hints if he so chose. And if he was caught, he would certainly wish to.

"Are you well, Alan?" Once more, he looked uncomfortable. Lyanna thought for a brief moment that it was the crypts, however, with a few sconces lit, it should not present such a threatening milieu. She cocked her head to the side. His face seemed somewhat bloated. Might be the cold air had got to him. "Let us sit near the wall, it is warmer there."

Alan did as she bade. She followed suit, arranging her skirts so that they would cover was much as they could. The water running behind the stonewalls produced a low hum. Her brother should be along shortly, Lyanna told herself glancing her companion's way. She only then noted his face was truly swollen. Instead of asking him once more whether he was fine, she chose to close her eyes and lean her head back against the wall. Best to enjoy her moment of quietness while she could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rickard moved his pieces, taking one of his wife's. "That is hardly fair, my lord." Lyarra moved one of her own, bringing herself all the closer to the king. "You take advantage of my obvious weakness." He chuckled softly, holding his hand out. She reached for him, their fingers touching ever so lightly. "You needn't look so very proud at the fact, my lord."

"I would never dare." To better please her he moved away one of his pieces. Lyarra understood the rules of the game, though she was not a very good player herself. That did not mean he sought to win every single battle. The war was far more important. Standing to her feet, Lyarra knocked the pieces over.

"Diverting as this is, my lord, I was thinking we could might be move to something a little more," she trailed off with a meaningful look. "Simply a little more."

"Would that my lady exercise some patience. It just so happens that you might have won in a few more moves." She laughed, clapping her hands a few times. "You doubt my word?"

"Not at all. But if I should win, I wish it to be upon my own skill. Not on your mercy, in any event, my lord. " She walked around the table, stopping at his side. Rickard watched her silently, waiting for whatever it was that lingered between them to show itself. "I was thinking, Ellyn has been acting strange recently."

"Strange? I am certain she'll will b herself once more shortly." He smiled. Lyarra frowned.

Before his wife could make her intentions known, however, a rap of the door accompanied by the flinging wide open of the very same door took his attention. The very subject of their discussion stood in the doorway, red-faced and short of breath. "My lord, my lady; Lady Lyanna is missing."

"Ellyn; what nonsense! The child must be in her own bedchamber." His wife's eyes narrowed in a glare.

"She isn't, lady mother," his son said, appearing from behind the companion. "I searched for her there." His insistence was enough to have him sit up. Abandoning his wife to her obvious annoyance with the situation. "Father, she has not returned."

"Benjen, what are you spouting there?"

Rickard knelt before the child, placing his hands upon the boy's shoulders. "We were playing. When the storm came I returned here, but Lyanna had not arrived yet."

"And do you know where she might be?" He should have asked about them far earlier. Rickard chased away the twinge of worry assailing him. His son frowned. "Benjen, think hard."

"Alan did not return either. Axel looked for them in the clearing." The more he heard, the more his ire rose.

"Why do you come to me only now? Aren't you aware your sister's in danger?" He shifted his attention to Ellyn. "Tell them to gather the men and have the horses saddled."

"My lord, you cannot be considering going out in this weather. Send the men. They will know what to do."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. ii - there is something just beyond

_281 AL_

_Harrenhal, The Riverlands_

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You are taking this far better than I had envisioned." Arthur's words, though uttered in that supercilious manner of his meant to engage one's ire, had the dubious distinction of acting as reminder that in spite of his father's clever ways, Rhaegar was even cleverer. "You do know that your presence here will be viewed as consent, do you not?"

"By and by you shall come to recognise the importance of preparing the stage for one's act," he answered, in his own manner, not at all put out by the thwarting glare aimed his way. He inspected his lance, his squires had done well, wondering briefly whether Lord Whent might be persuaded still to lengthen his supervision were he to press. "And I am consenting."

"You are doing it to," he paused, raising one eyebrow, "what, exactly? What have you to gain by accepting a madwoman, again?" Dayne pondered the stroke of ill fortune and his heart-rending, certainly-doomed union, oblivious to his own lack of care. "I vow I do not understand you at all."

"No need to be obtuse," he spoke after a small moment of silence. "Since it has come to this, it is either marriage or murder. Mother would frown should I decide for the latter." Arthur was frowning as well, as though he did not find his words even half-amusing. "Besides, Lord Stark's daughter is not a violent madwoman. She is merely, in the so eloquent words of my cousin, a simple girl singularly interested in her horse."

"I do beg your pardon if your cousin's words fail to inspire trust in me," Arthur replied tartly. He toyed idly with the end of a small fine chain. Something his sister had sent him, no doubt.

"One can depend on so very few things in this life. It pleases me to say Robert's knowledge of women is one of those few elusive few. It remains the case that if a young lady is involved, Robert shall have done his utmost best to have charmed her. If he says she hasn't much sense to her, I am inclined to believe him."

"Or it might be a case of too much sense. Has it occurred to you that not all women desire his attention?" Rhaegar trained his gaze upon his long-time friend and considered, truly, his words. It was not that he doubted the truth in them. Ashara Dayne had been doing just fine resisting Robert Baratheon's flirtations. But that did not mean she did not engage him and there had been a women or two to react negatively as well.

"Truly, Dayne, this marriage suits me just fine. I daresay a woman like Lord Stark's daughter shan't have much use for court life. She will, therefore, not be in my father's path, which is likely to ensure he will have forgotten her before the year is out."

"But you do not plan to forget." A nod was the only inch he was willing to give. "If it were any other lady, I would have commended you. But there is no sport to be had in kicking a helpless pup, is there?"

"On the contrary, I am going to take very good care of the poor mite. I plan to have her visiting that worthless father of hers at every opportunity. In fact, I might even persuade them to give me her youngest brother." Understanding dawned upon Arthur, though he looked no more pleased than before. "Of course, if it comes to it, I shall make use of her as well. Simple or not, she will have a coveted position and that I can spin to my advantage."

"It still does not sit well with me," his friend continued on his initial line of argument. "Say you turn the situation to your advantage, what is to happen to the poor thing after?"

"The poor thing is to mother the future heir to the Iron Throne. You needn't worry, Dayne. My father shan't bind my hands with this scheme of his." Nay; one supposed his own father would think the son had at least a modicum of moral fibre. But Rhaegar knew too well in the game he played there was no place for even the slightest weakness. "Abrar issi keskydoso isse se zobrie."

Arthur laughed. "Livi," he corrected after a moment of silent musing. "This one, I am afraid, will be much different. It just so happens she will depend entirely upon your mercy."

"Have I not made myself clear?" Arthur held one hand up, as to calm the flare of temper.

"There are some things a man may never take back." The warning grated upon his nerves. It was not like Arthur to be so insisted, or so completely invested he twisted his little chain into knots. "Do not give me that look. I am your friend. Your peace of mind concerns me."

"You need not take on such duties. Your role is to protect the King." Arthur did not wince. A lesser man might have at his tone of voice. Neither did he stand. Even so, Rhaegar felt a stirring of shame. Arthur was his oldest friend, after all. He quashed the uncomfortable feeling beneath his more pressing concerns. "I am not angling to harm her. She'll likely not understand much in any event."

A nod came from the other, though Rhaegar could tell it was more Arthur giving up than him agreeing. The fact was, his friend had a set of principles he did not stray from. "You will, nevertheless, allow my sister a position in your wife's retinue, will you not?"

"That goes without saying. She will likely need some guidance." Speaking of guidance, very few days remained until the tourney. Lord Whent had exerted himself with preparations. Another blow aimed at Rhaegar's pride, that. Well, it was not quite so bad, there were worse places to wed into. "I almost wish you'd gone after her, Arthur. At least I might have persuaded you to give me fair warning."

"I thought your cousin gave you plenty."

"On the contrary, if he cannot fuck them he pays them no mind. I daresay the day Robert Baratheon sits more than a moment in the company of a respectable woman it shall be before a septon." He sighed, carding his fingers through his hair. "He said she looks like a Stark, whatever that means, and that she favours her mother."

"I believe the current lord and lady are cousins," his companion offered.

"I should at least like to know if there are any deformities I must brace myself for."

"Do you not fear any child of hers should inherit her peculiar behaviour, rather?"

"Any child of ours could go either way. That has always been the way of my house. And truly, what manner of man would I be if I held it against her when there is a long list, some might say spectacularly so, of ancestors who has been known to do much worse than hold conversations with their steed?"

"Normally your good humour is heartening," the knight sighed. "If your course is set and there is naught I can do to dissuade you," at which he paused long enough for Rhaegar to shake his head, "then there is little for it but to wish you happy."

A decent man would not contemplate aligning himself with a poor creature who was unlike to understand the demands made upon her. That was as much as he was willing to read in the light censorious note he felt in his friend's voice. Were he at liberty to choose, Rhaegar would have turned his attentions to a more suitable partner as well, but the fact of the matter was, he was obliged to play to the tune his father produced. For the time being.

It would be a lie to claim he felt absolutely no remorse regarding Lord Stark's daughter and what must come next. The poor girl was the only innocent in the whole scheme. Which was why he meant to be kind in his dealings with her. That, however, had to be the end of it.

"I do not doubt I shall feel accomplished by the end of it," he answered. A knock on the door cut off the rest of what he had a mind to say. "Enter," he replied simply to the unspoken query.

Not too much surprised, he turned his eyes upon Arthur's sister. "Lady Shella has it from her husband that the Starks will arrive soon," she reported, a smile curling her lips ever so slightly, "and I confess to much curiosity about this wife of yours. I was wondering if my brother could be allowed to see me to the courtyard."

"Daresay you are not the only curious soul," Arthur answered, standing. "Your Grace, will you join us?"

"Of course, one cannot keep one's future kin waiting. Nor one's own curiosity unsatisfied," he added lightly, eliciting a small amused sound from Ashara.

"The poor girl; if only she knew your manner, Your Grace, she'd be running for the hills." And if he knew hers, he'd ride of a cliff. If he recalled, more than one husband had adopted such drastic measures.

"You wound me," he answered Ashara easily nonetheless. "I do wonder why you and your brother have such a low opinion of me." The words were said without much feeling, but he was surprised to find Ashara's reaction a tad more serious than he had expected.

"I am a woman, Your Grace. Would you expect sheep to have a high opinion of wolves?" She did not wait for his answer. "Then why would you expect a woman to have a high opinion of men?" He'd always appreciated her honesty. As reward, he met her answer with a warm chuckle. Ashara offered a grin not unworthy of a mischievous lass set upon making trouble.

Their arrival to the frankly much too large courtyard was not in vain. Lady Shella Whent hurried towards them, holding up the hem of her voluminous skirts. "Your Grace, we were just about to send a squire." She took hold of his proffered arm. "My Walter assured me you would not have wished to miss Lady Lyanna's arrival."

"Indeed, I would not." The woman had a smile for his response, which Rhaegar supposed was pleasant. Lady Shella had a warm smile. "You would not happen to know who brings the bride."

"It just so happens that I do know. Lord Stark is close enough to Lord Tully that they have shared between them plans for this tourney. Lord Tully wrote that Lady Lyanna is joined by her brothers and her father."

"Not her lady mother?" He would be unable to corroborate Robert's words then. A pity.

"Lady Lyarra shall be present for her son's wedding. That is, Brandon's. He is wedding Catelyn Tully; Minisa's daughter." Minisa Whent, of course. Oswell had grown with her and as far as Rhaegar heard, her marriage to Lord Tully prompted her kin's decision to join the Kingsguard. A sadder story had never been heard. Rhaegar inclined his head in understanding. "Poor Minisa, she should have loved to see her daughters wed."

"A heavy loss for the girls as well, I do not doubt." He allowed Lady Whent to drag him along towards the approaching party. The riders at the front looked similar enough that he was in no doubt of their identity.

Lord Stark dismounted first. His sons followed. Although the one he deemed the youngest, instead of joining his father, took a few steps back towards the wheelhouse following in their wake. Rhaegar's gaze trained upon the boy, but before he could make sense of his intentions, Lord Stark spoke.

"I see we are running somewhat late." He inspected the man before him. Rhaegar had wondered what fool would place his daughter in harm's way with so little thought. "Your Grace, we did not expect to be thus greeted."

"I daresay it is my duty." His boundless curiosity would have to be kept under wraps. Rhaegar looked over the man's shoulder.

The youngest son had indeed gone to the wheelhouse's entrance and from within helped down what could only be his sister. The girl had to be shy of her fifteenth year, if he had the information right. Her brother leaned in to whisper something in her ear and she looked up, seemingly startled. Her face turned toward him. Wide-eyes pinned him to his current place, something about her gaze cutting. Before long though, as if drawing shutters to block out anything, her eyes became dull.

Ever so slowly, leaning against her brother, she approached the rest of her family. There was something almost sweet about the child-like admiration with which she gazed upon her father, her mask slipping for but a brief moment. Lord Stark drew his daughter nearer and spoke somewhat loudly. "You no doubt know your duty, daughter. Greet His Grace."

Doing as her father bade, the maiden gave a half-hearted greeting. There was neither a smile nor a frown upon her face, but simply a blank expression. Had she appeared thusly before his cousin, it was little wonder Robert took one look at her before promptly declaring her unfit company. She blinked prettily, the utterly empty gaze she favoured him with executed with such a convincing quality he was tempted to believe. But then he did have the advantage of age over her and he'd seen many a convincing performance. No matter how good; she had already slipped. His only concern was the extent to which he could make use of her peculiar nature.

"The journey has been a long one," the eldest-looking of the sons interrupted. Apparently manners were of little concern in the North. His brother gave him a sharp look but did no more and the father had a nod of agreement.

"Of course," he gave way. The lord allowed his children to file before him and be passed into the care of the lady of the house. "You too, my lord, have been thus affected by the journey?"

"They are young. I hope Your Grace shan't hold youth's folly against them." Nay; indeed, he would not. A grown man's folly, however, he was more than prepared to take advantage of.

"I was hoping we might have word, my lord." Rickard Stark accepted the silent invitation and though no outward sign gave away his opinion Rhaegar had the distinct impression the man was not best pleased.

As though determined to aid him, Ashara dragged her brother away, whispering something in an obvious enough manner that had Lord Whent going along. All the better for their conversation. It would not be private, but it would endorse the illusion well enough. They walked off together.

"There are a few questions I have regarding your daughter?" Without paying much mind to his companion, Rhaegar noted the tension accumulate; it would be highly improbable that he wouldn't this close. Might be he wasn't quite as stupid as he'd thought. "No need to look quite so put out. You must know the situation is highly irregular."

"Highly irregular is not the way I'd term it, Your Grace." They neared the line of trees. One could walk on foot until one reached the heart tree. A path had even been cleared. Presumably men of the North were bound by their words if spoken beneath the white branches of a weirwood. Drivel, but if it got him what he wanted. "You have seen my daughter. Might be if you spoke to His Majesty."

"Out of the question, my lord. It just so happens that I am in agreement with His Majesty. It is time that I wed and who better than the daughter of such an illustrious lineage." A few branches hung low, having not been trimmed accordingly. They were swiftly removed. "If you are concerned, you can only imagine my own thoughts."

"You mistake my intent, Your Grace. 'Tis only that Lyanna is young." So much for the father protecting his daughter. Rhaegar smothered a smile. "And Your Grace, I understand, had great plans."

"Plans which can well accommodate your daughter, I assure you. There is something I must know, though. Her affliction, was she born with it?" They were nearing the weirwood. Rhaegar looked ahead, barely able to discern the three among many others. Even its striking colouring had to bow to the density of the woods.

He turned to look at the man. The Northerner lord looked stricken. "Well, my lord? Was she?" A small muscle twitched in his jaw as though he was doing battle with himself. Rhaegar had never seen anything half as entertaining and if at all possible he should have enjoyed perusing the tale for few hours. Alas, he could not be long out of sight, lest his father sent for his knights and have him dragged back. He cocked his head to the side, indicating his impatience through means of a look.

"Aye; she has always been this way," his companion said in the end. "Lyanna is a fragile little thing and were it not for His Majesty's express wishes in this, I should have never consented." Lord Rickard refused to meet his gaze. "Your Grace is not like to understand." Indeed, he could not; but guilt was not beyond him. He'd had his fair share of moments where guilt sunk its claws into him.

"So you say, my lord. I happen to disagree, however, and as such the King is not likely to change his mind, we had best reach some manner of understanding. For your daughter's sake, of course. It would do me much good to know how I am to deal with her."

"Deal with her," the lady's father repeated softly. "Pay her as little mind as possible, leave her to her horses and she is not like to bother you either."

It occurred to him that he may have mistaken in his assertion of the man's character. It could just be his future good-father was not as foolish as he had first envisioned. "I see. You do understand it shan't be entirely possible."

"I am certain Your Grace is capable of it. You need only put your mind to it." They reached the weirwood. The grotesque face carved in the pristine bark engulfed them in its angry gaze, presumably at their daring to intrude upon its solitude. Rhaegar would have been properly touched were it not for the small fact the man was lying through his teeth.

Might be the daughter would be more accommodating. "My father has certain expectations of this union. If they are not met, I fear his ire would fall not so much upon me, but upon others. That is his way, after all." The meaningful look which followed his statement must have put fright of the King in the man's heart for Lord Stark scrambled for words. "You understand, of course, there are some things beyond my power. Might be we could reach some sort of arrangement nonetheless."

"What does Your Grace have in mind?" His gaze slid over to the weirwood.

"Lady Lyanna is bound to be taken aback by the change in circumstances. It could be her transition would be easier if she had a familiar face beside her." Understanding crept upon the other man's expression. "You have a son and he is not yet engaged to squire for any knight."

Pale-faced, the Northerner raised his gaze to the gently swaying branches of the weirwood as though beseeching the tree for answers. "A man can only sacrifice so much. What shall I be asked for next, Your Grace?"

"Your blood, might be. The truth is, my lord, the throne takes its due. It might just be easier to submit willingly." Lord Stark nodded his head solemnly. What else was there to do? "I am much obliged for your understanding."

"One day Your Grace, you too shall be a father. If ever you find yourself in a position similar to mine, I expect there will be understanding between us."

"What is there until that moment comes?"

"You do not need an answer to that." That he didn't.

"We have an understanding?"

"So we do. You have my word." His son would serve nicely. And with the daughter, they were bound to rock the boat some. Might be enough to distract his father from various nefarious plans.

His business concluded, Rhaegar allowed Lord Stark to see to his own duties for the time being and he would see to his own. With that in mind, he departed the weirwood with its strangely carved face and made his way back to the courtyard where awaited him more than a curious soul, hoping to find out some morsel of information about his bride beyond the very few broad strokes in which Robert Baratheon had painted the girl.

Rhaegar, however, declined all requests. He was not in the mood to entertain any of his acquaintances. He evaded their well-placed snared and disappeared into the safety of the keep, half-inclined to order thee little she-wolf to his chambers so he may better study her. Fairly certain such an order would result in much fainting to be had, he decided there would be time enough after the septon wedded them.

Speaking of, he was the least bit surprised when his cousin came barrelling down the hallway. "Your bride has arrived, do you know?"

"I have eyes, Robert," he answered. "And do address her properly, won't you?"

"Do you even know her name, I wonder," Robert japed.

"Of course I do."

"Not that it would matter to her. I daresay you may give her whichever name suits your fancy."

"You are entirely too cavalier about the matter." He brushed past Robert who was left more or less to his own devices. For himself, his chamber held a few of those answers he was interested in having.

Arthur and Ashara were in the middle of an engrossing game of cards upon his entrance. Neither as much as looked away from their hand. "Well then, care to tell me what you two are so concentrated on?"

"What is the fun in that?" answered Ashara, slapping a card against the table. "There you go, brother dearest." Her crowing was met with a smirk from Arthur who ever so slowly turned his own card to face her. Ashara's lips pursed.

"Never count yours winning before the result is certain." He filched whatever it was she had used for their wager.

"Entertaining as the two of you are, there are other chambers you may use."

"But yours is ever so comfortable. And if you must know, I managed to speak to the girl." He sat down at the table, picking up the cards. "You'll cut?"

"What did you speak of?" He did as she asked, splitting the cards between the three of them.

"Win this game and might be I shall tell you." She leaned back in her seat, staring expectantly over her cards. "Will you take the wager?"

"Sometimes I do think you were allowed to run much too free." Ashara shrugged. "Very well, lady, and what will happen if I lose?" he asked.

"That remains to be seen." Ashara gave her brother a telling look. Rhaegar placed down one of his cards. "Aren't you feeling fortunate, Your Grace?"

"We shall see whom the fortune favours."

Arthur made a thoughtful sound, "I do believe you ought to have insisted upon knowing the price you'd pay if you lost." He relinquished one of his own cards, albeit reluctantly.

"I do not plan on losing," he answered evenly. Ashara was a fair hand, but like in all other endeavours she showed a decided lack of discipline. He gave her an innocent smile when she scowled. Neither did she, by the looks of it.

"So they all say." Her scowl turned into a smile. He dropped his for good measure. Time to see how far she was willing to take the game. "Well, Your Grace, shall we play in earnest?" She deposited a card face-down upon the table.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Rhaegar's an arse. Meh. But there are [worse things out there.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPbW8zvYCPY) And yes, I put it there for the name specifically, if you're the queasy sort, give it a pass.


	3. iii - break them all

_281 AL_

_Harrenhal, The Riverlands_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyanna kept her gaze upon the intricate pattern of the Myrish carpet beneath her feet. She studied it with an attention worthy of any scholarly subject. Maester Walys would be proud, no doubt attributing her diligence to his method of discipline rather than her own reluctance to meet the world around her. Father pressed a palm to the small of her back, his gesture urging haste. She half-heard the words he spoke and knees buckling underneath the pressure.

"Your Grace," she whispered, hoping he did not hear a word. He was looking at her once more with those cold, calculating stares of his, as though he could not wait to set her apart. At least the King had had the decency to not be interested in a young, ill girl, waving her away after a perfunctory look after which he declared, rather curtly, that she would do.

She was promptly seated at the side of her betrothed, at his insistent urging, no less. There was nothing for it but to sit down. Fortunately, heavy skirts awarded her the opportunity of fussing over the fall of folds, encompassing of the cover and, might be most importantly, the avoiding of conversation. Her good fortune ran out soon enough though, as all good things were wont to end much too quickly.

He was speaking. That much she could make out. As to what he was saying, she imagined she would not care to hear it even if she were perfectly capable of doing so. Surreptitiously, she searched through the chamber for her brothers. Rather, for Benjen who had promised her a ride as soon as attention fell away from them. It appeared, however, her future husband was no more appreciative of her shallowness than Maester Walys had been, for without much consideration as to her wishes, she found herself gently guided to look into his face. Again, those eyes of his held her in thrall. A man should not be half as handsome.

"Surely you can manage a few more words." It was much easier to understand him with her eyes trained on his lips. Not to mention the distance between them practically melting away. Keeping a deceptively calm mien firmly in place, she shrugged at his assessment. She could certainly produce them but as soon as she did all eyes would be trained on her. No doubt wishing to hear the oddity speak. If only he would remove his hand. It would be much easier to concentrate. "Indeed, you seemed to be doing just fine with your brothers." He must have seen her then speaking to Brandon.

"Might be I am." Her gaze dropped once more, settling upon the collar of his garment. That ought to give her the appearance of contemplating something as she berated herself. Though her attention gad shifted, she had not missed the slow to form grin he had. Presumably congratulating himself on having successfully baited her.

Father had told her in no uncertain terms that the wedding was to go forth as planned. She could have cried. It was been assumed, with relief by her, and much crying by her lady mother, that the King would take one look at her and seek another bride for his son, or that the Prince himself would refuse the match. He would not be the first to not bow to such demands. As it happened, however, she would not be returning home with her kin. The one impulse she managed to keep to herself was the desire to tell the Prince exactly how much she wanted their union.

"You are?" He had not bothered to lower his voice even at their close proximity. The light invitation she detected was unfortunately not enough to entice her into further speech. "So we are to play this game, are we? Very well, lady. But I must warn you, fortune favours me today."

"Biarves," she answered, unable to help herself at his mocking tone, "dohaeragon se nedenka." A tiny problem would be that she was more unthinking than bold. Father had instructed her to make herself invisible. It seemed the task would take more skill than she had initially anticipated. She would certainly not get to the desired results by spouting in Valyrian at him. Likely as not he was bound to correct her grammar. Or laugh.

The precision of her prediction found vindication in a small chuckle coming from the fiend. "Is that your usual way, lady? As soon as you are challenged you change the game?" Feigning ignorance, Lyanna raised her eyes to his yet again. Then he whispered, and not only did her ears refused to pick up the words, but her very heartbeat covered his voice with loud thumps. She could still read his lips. A small shiver ran down her spine.

Her first instinct was to withdraw within herself. Which he allowed. Lyanna was finally able to look away from him, just in time to see Brandon striding up to her. Relief coursed through her veins at her brother's approach. He bowed to the Prince, though nowhere near low enough as far as she could tell. He sat down on her other side, effectively breaking the invisible wall the Prince had set between them and the rest of those gathered in Lord Whent's halls.

"Ser Brandon, still searching for manners, I see." To Brandon's credit, he maintained a firm grip upon his emotions, going as far as to paste a weak smile upon his lips. Lyanna touched her hand to her brother's gently, hoping her gesture was not noted.

"Your Grace must be mistaken, I've lost nothing." She squeezed his hand in warning. This was neither the place, nor the time. Her brother returned the gesture before shaking her hold away.

"Stubbornness must be a family trait." The Prince reached for his chalice. The engraved sides presented a most entertaining scene. Carved with care, riders were on the hunt, chasing what was, Lyanna presumed, a boar or a stag.

"Tenacity is a good quality to have," her brother returned. "Yet no one can account for taste, I daresay." Her brother followed the Prince's example and poured himself some wine. He gestured towards her own cup, but Lyanna shook her head. She eyed the Prince wearily, awaiting a response.

"Fortunate for some, I've no doubt." The reply was no worse than she'd expected. It was to their advantage he was amused yet. It would not do to push too hard. Though she wanted to tell her brother as much, her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She held her counsel. His attention was not long held by her brother, though. It seemed that a dragon determined was not easily dissuaded. "Well, my lady, now that your brother has arrived, might be you will speak more freely."

"Or might be Your Grace will be persuaded to take mercy and leave the poor girl be." At least she could count on Brandon to act as her shield.

"I was not aware I was being cruel." Lyanna relaxed in her seat. They were holding the conversation over her head, which meant she need not exert herself further. "Your sister must be fragile indeed if words will cause her harm."

She felt his fingers tug at her hair, wrapping a strand around his finger. An innocent gesture, she supposed, one she'd seen performed by many a hand. The pressure built inside of her. Brandon looked like he very much wanted to slap the hand away. Lyanna forced herself to breath evenly in and out. It was not the most comfortable position a woman could find herself in. The strand of hair unwound slowly, loosening its embrace. "Are you so very fragile, my lady?"

"What if I should be?" She caught his hand with her own, the forge of her push doing naught to free her. He simply turned the hold upon her and lowered the hand back to her lap whence it came. To what purpose he insisted, she did not know.

"Then there is nothing for it but to find a place of safety for you, my lady. You have heard about Baelor's sisters, aye?" Locked in a tower. That was safe enough, she supposed. Although since Daena the Defiant could get out, she presumed there were ways of getting in aplently. She ought to have remained impassive at his needling. "My lady?"

She turned to her brother, her free hand climbing to his shoulder in a gentle shove. "I believe you promised Ned you would show him and Robert the new armour. Now is as good a time as any." None too pleased with his dismissal, Barndon gave a sharp nod and rose. He trained a disapproving stare upon the Prince.

"Not so fragile, after all," he said when she turned, and no better could she have timed it. Their hands were still entwined in a clasp, more his than hers, resting in her lap. She attempted to pry her limb loose. To no avail, his hand might have been an iron shackle. "There, there; you must learn to pick your battles. Some enemies shan't let you win as easily."

Win what precisely? She stared into his eyes, trying to find some manner of answer. She was to go unsatisfied. The Prince finally let go of her hand, turning away as a figure approached. Lyanna saw the shadows first and the man only after. It was the same knight she'd seen in the courtyard upon her arrival. Her brow furrowed. Someone had told her he was a Dayne.

"Exercise some patience," the intruder said, eyeing the Prince. "It might surprise Your Grace to learn that you are in the privacy of your own chambers and you have already attracted some attention." The man gave her a slow look. "Not that I blame you, my friend."

"As long as my father is properly entertained." The Prince rose. Left the only one sitting, Lyanna was forced to crane her neck to better interpret their words. "Come now, Dayne. I never knew you to be faint-hearted."

"Your little lark does not bother me, but it seems the King has been too well entertained. I was asked to escort the lady to her chamber." He nodded towards her. "And you, Your Grace, shall present yourself at His Majesty's side for he means to have your counsel upon some matters." Without further ado, he held one hand out to her. "Lady Lyanna, pray come with me now."

She rose. Before she might reach for the knight however, her betrothed decided he must put on one more act for their audience. Taking hold of her hand he brought it to his lips. Lyanna knew well enough the aim of the gesture and held herself as stiff as possible. If anything, he would tire of toying with her. Mother had told her, in not so many words, that her lack of proper response would spell the end of any courtship.

Meantime, she followed Ser Arthur, trying to keep up with the brisk pace he set. Less mindful of her than even Benjen on a bad day, the knight hurriedly brought her into the hallway, away from the King and his men. Away from the Prince and whatever scheme he was busy concocting. Away from her kin.

She pulled herself away from the man's grasp and stumbled a few paces backwards. Ser Dayne turned towards her. Something must have shown on her face, for he held both hands up, stepping towards her slowly. He reached out and she drew further away. "My lady, I do not mean you harm."

"My brother," she interrupted whatever explanation he had a mind to give. "I want my brother."

"Which one?" One of the advantages of her situation was that in such instances there tended to be some reluctance from others in dealing with her.

"Benjen. I want Benjen."

"Stay here." She gave a nod. The command was not nearly as harsh as some she'd heard in her own home. And the wait was not long either. The knight returned with her brother in tow and Benjen was more than pleased to have the man walk behind him as he led her forth. And took the time to question her interview with the Prince with a fine tooth comb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Benjen nodded his head encouragingly after a brief look towards the winding stairs. Lyanna stepped out at his signal, holding up her skirts with some care. Blast her impeding betrothal. She'd yet to see so much lace of a single kirtle and she prayed the gods she never would again. Why mother insisted she must look her best after promptly dismissing any one chance at a marriage going through, Lyanna was at a loss to explain. She did know, however, that tearing even a bit of flounce from the ridiculous confection would see her locked in her bedchamber skipping a great many number of suppers.

Her brother, conscientious sentinel that he was, scouted ahead. It called to mind the games of their youth, him sneaking into her bedchamber fresh out of the grip of some vile night terror and she leading him back to his own bed, lest they incur mother's wrath. To her great relief, mother did not plague the halls of Harrenhal. Although according to Brandon ghosts did. Ghastly things, remnants of a too-proud lord. She shivers lightly at the memory of the tale and grabbed hold of Benjen's hand as she struggled with her skirts, hoping she would not join the otherworldly guests of the halls with a cracked skull of her own for show. It much stand out too much amid charred bodied.

"I'll never be able to get atop a horse in this," she complained after her heel caught the small excess of material at the back of her kirtle for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Married or maiden, she would burn the dress just as soon as her fate was decided. No matter its cost; no one human being should be subjected to such vicious trials.

Once on safe even ground, Benjen bent to whisper, "You could just send it to mother with a ripped hem. That ought to put an end to her generosity."

"But you forget, dearest brother, I will have left the den of the wolf by then." Another flight of stairs awaited its turn to torture her ankles and her nerves alike. A small groan lodged itself tightly in her throat. Might be she should take to rolling in the mud and then sending the thing back.

"But you will never not be my sister," Benjen replied decidedly. She could not help the smile blooming upon her lips at his vehemence. "Aside from which, I shall put you atop that horse myself if need be." There would likely be.

With her brother's help she made it safely to the courtyard. A few servants went about, their tasks keeping them busy. Their attention thus engaged, Lyanna and Benjen were left to their own devices, to traipse to their heart's content. Which was precisely what Lyanna intended to do until she reached the stables, her gelding and the safety of haystack. After all, haystacks did not try to crack her open as though she were an oyster containing pearls.

"Go in first. I want to see if Brandon managed to resolve matters in the camp." Her response, though shallow, was taken with a brisk nod from her kin and a murmur of encouragement, whose contents she could not decipher as he turned away at that precise moment.

Trusting Benjen would be along shortly, Lyanna engaged the faolds of her skirts in yet another skirmish as her feet traversed the distance between her and stables. She pushed open the door, wondering at the absence of boisterous laughter. She could have sworn she'd heard it faintly upon arrival. Alas, the shafts of light accompanying her as she went did not bring to attention the form of a single stablehand. What they did reveal to her was another scene altogether.

Horror forced her to a halt. Much like a hare cornered, she skittered back, hand rising to muffle a sound of concern. Before her very eyes lay a creature in need, not unknown to her, set upon by unfair means as far as she could see. The first reaction bled into fury. Forgetting all about the thin lace and fragile kirtle, she reached for the nearest object she could grab, a long stick, crudely fashioned, and without warning she swung.

It caught the first of the assailants by surprise, hitting against leg, knee-high. A shout of pain erupted, one even her ears picked up. "That is my father's bannerman, miserable cur!" she cried out. The squire dropped his training sword and she without thought leaped to grab hold.

Weapon in hand she advanced upon the other too even as they retreated, stepping over the fallen Crannogman she recognised at the very least by sight. Lips moved, yet words reached her not. It seemed some manner of plea was being forwarded. All she knew, however, was her rage and revulsion at their shocking actions. She took forth a few more steps, hoping she came across as menacing. The sword sailed through another arch and her targets for some reason stood frozen in place. Bewildered at their sudden compliance she too paused, with mind turned towards the less-than-tender ministrations she wished applied to them.

Before she could make up her mind one way or the other a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist and a familiar, unwelcome, voice announced the presence of her bitterest enemy yet. "Now what is it my eyes see? Lady Lyanna, I never took you for a shieldmaiden." And she had never guessed he stood absent occupation. That made them about equal.

The limbs around her torso loosened ever so slightly. "He is my father's bannerman." Sufficient explanation as far as she was concerned; yet he did not cease. In fact, her betrothed seemed to see the situation as an opportunity.

His voice became muffled, signalling some distance came between them, or at least her ear and his mouth. "You there," she guessed he nodded towards one of them by the way a small silence cut his speech, "come over here. Now."

And then, at length, as the squire moved, she heard Brandon's voice. "Your Grace, my sister is surely to be excused." She turned, but remained unable to catch even a glimpse of her kin.

"Ser, you had best keep your counsel. I shall hear no more upon the fragile nature of your sister." His voice cleared as he leaned in. "And now, little wolf, it is time someone teach you the proper manner to wield a sword."

His hand cupped hers as she gripped her training weapon tightly. It occurred to her that he could very easily pry the blade from her fingers. Might be take her to task for what surely must look quite a display. Was that what he had in mind? The squire he'd called stood before them. She could see lines of tension in his face. The Prince brought up their holding hands. The sword sailed through the air, slightly to the side. And then he brought it hurtling down towards the squire's face. Edges though not sharp, it broke against the boy's flesh, splitting open the skin of his raised hands, producing a gash upon his forehead. "That, my lady, is a proper swing."

Rhaegar Targaryen forced the sword from her hand then and turned her around to face him. An easy task for him. His icy gaze traced what she hoped were bewildered, not frightened features. To shield herself as well as she could she trained her gaze upon his mouth. "Your father's bannerman requires aid. And you, little wolf, doubtlessly could do with more attention."

He released her and relief gripped her, the hold so fierce she stumbled backwards. When she looked around the Prince she saw Ned and Benjen had picked up the injured man. Without thought she hurried to the safety of her brother's side, Brandon receiving her with a tight frown. She did not want to hear the words they spoke and looked away as the prince approached. They kept their voices low.

It was too late though. She knew only too well that at least one of her brothers had made clear her reason for being in the stables. As expected, her reprieve lasted only for a few blessed moments before she was thrown back into the fray. Specifically, an unfamiliar weight. Forced to grant her attention, Lyanna dearly wished she might pull away.

"How is that for gratitude?" Her betrothed tugged her away from her brother. "Of course you may come along if you so desire, ser. Come, Lady Lyanna, your horse grown impatient." She trudged alongside him, thankful that unlike Ser Dayne he seemed to be willing to match her pace, even with the further trouble her kirtle caused when she stumbled over the edge. He balanced her with care.

Apparently he'd taken care of everything in between her fluctuations of attention, for her gelding and another horse had been saddled and prepared. How had she missed that? No matter, she found herself settled sideways upon her own mount, hands gripping the twin pommels so as to adjust her position to her satisfaction. The Prince meantime saw to his own mounting, fast and efficient as if he'd been born to it. Lyanna scowled at him and the good-natured smile he wore. Would he smile on the field of battle also? Gripping as the thought was, she was roused out of her musing by his movement.

Knowing her duty well, she followed without a single word, doing her best not to wonder at the rider taking off after them. She had thought a single knight not sufficient guard, but then it was naught to her where the Prince's life ended; only that he not take her with him.

He took her towards the godswood and the lone weirwood tree set to guard over Harrenhal. Lyanna accepted the direction with more than a flicker of relief. He did not mean to harm her, surely, not in the presence of the gods. Their ride was spent in silence for he neither engaged her, not slowed his own canter to the pace of her gelding's. His horse was obviously bred for more strenuous activities than a leisure ride. Lyanna admired the animal's long, toned legs. Would he ride that beast during the joust?

They neared their destination. Some of her earlier apprehension returned to see his dismount. She had hoped he would be disappointed with her lack of speech, might be turn back, or possibly deliver a crude quip. Instead, the King's son saw fit to tether the horse to a sturdy branch, patting the beast's neck gentle. He whispered something in the mount's ear before turning towards her.

Having retained her position atop the gelding, she released her grip upon the reins and held onto the pommels. Not that she suffered long, for his hands gripped her by the waist and hoisted her down. He put a respectable distance between them before pointing to the carved face of their weirwood tree. She blinked, uncertain. "I do not appreciate being toyed with, lady. And since you owe me," he paused.

She took advantage, pressing forth. "Owe you?"

"Did I not order your father man tended to?" A flush stole over her cheeks. "You owe me, of course. Therefore, swear you shall repay the debt." She started, an incomprehensive babble upon her lips. He was looking much too serious for her taste. "Promise, before your gods." The way he said it, as though he were mocking their very existence vexed her. Yet he was not wrong. "Promise me, Lyanna."

It was more the shock of having all titles dropped that spurred her into action. "I will repay the debt. You have my vow." She frowned. "But what exactly is it that you wish from me?"

"At the right time you will know." As answers went, his was not at all fulfilling. "For now, know yourself in my debt." He studied her for a few moments, apparently engrossed in whatever it was he saw. She wondered if he had guessed yet the source of her madness and then chided herself. "I confess I am tempted to urge repayment immediately."

"What is stopping you?"

His lips quirked. "Wisdom, I daresay."

Would that she had any herself. Lyanna looked away, wondering where the man following them had disappeared to.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. iv - abyss stares back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair WARNING: This chapter contains scenarios some readers might find offensive - particularly a hard case of dubious consent. If knowing this you choose to go on and read, I expect you will have done so with full knowledge of what is depicted lower.
> 
> If you are one of those "triggered" individuals, skip the chapter.

_281 AL_

_Harrenhal, The Riverlands_

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You will find this traitorous scum and you will remove the thorn from our side forthwith," his father ordered. Rhaegar did not know whether to be amused or put out at having to waste precious time battling shadows. Unmoved by the King's forceful manner, he waited for further instruction. In truth, they both knew the mystery knight was not his father's worry. "Search every corner of the blasted keep, take your men to the village if you must. I care not, but that you find the wretch and have him under strict supervision. He must be defeated and unmasked."

"Your Majesty," the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard saw fit to intervene, "my men would see to the task, if it please. His Grace need not concentrate on such a task."

The King snarled. Rhaegar might have told the man it was to bargain with the old codger once his mind was made up. If only he'd bothered to put the question to him. Gerold Hightower, however, was not in the habit of asking. "Under my son's supervision, lord commander."

"If Your Majesty has no further instructions, I would see to my other duties." He did not stand though he wanted it with every fibre of his being. His father was growing more tedious by the minute and he would spend some time amusing himself with the little she-wolf before running of a fool's errand, some wild goose chase concocted by an ailing mind.

"What duties have you beside those to the Iron Throne?" his parent mocked.

"None, Your Majesty. Which is why I should be diligent in their fulfilment." But the man could certainly give him cause to grow angry. Ever since that little knight challenged those fools unable to rein in their squires he'd had only grief from his sire. A less patient man would thrust his sword in the villain's black heart and be dine with it. Not him though, not yet. Not until he had his way. "My betrothed awaits."

"The favour of the gods is ever changing." The warning elicited a shrug from him. He'd already decided upon his course and no amount of needling from the man before him would alter his decision. "Methinks you have grown more used to the thought of wedding the girl."

"I could not possibly refuse my sire's wish." Nor his own curiosity, come to think of it. Lyanna Stark was endlessly amusing and he could not wait to learn what she thought of the mystery knight and his ill-fated appearance before the King.

"Leave then if you must. Leave me with my men." Rhaegar, not able to comply quick enough, gave the Lord Commander a nod, before looking with meaning towards Arthur. There was a flicker of understanding in his friend's face and that was enough for Rhaegar to see himself without, where waited Richard.

"Myles?" Rhaegar asked for the other.

"Went to get your lady," Richard answered in a bored manner. "I must offer my gratitude, Your Grace."

"What for?" He held his hand out for the weapon his companion held. Richard relinquished the sword. Much better to feel its weight. Rhaegar's attention shifted back to the squire.

"I bet Myles he could not return with the lady before you concluded your interview with His Majesty."

"And how much am I winning you?" Had that girl caught her train might be? Would that they'd appear.

"A Stag, Your Grace." Myles must have received coin from his father if he was willing to take such a bet.

Before he could inquire any further into the business of the Silver Stag and the bets around it, his other squire returned, with Lyanna on his arm no less. Rhaegar took a moment to admire the slightly-bewildered expression she had, as though she'd just been roused. It was not entirely impossible. Many a lady retired after the jousts, for a meal and a good sleep, and some for good company. His betrothed came to a halt a few paces away from him and gave a shallow obeisance along with a grim little greeting.

"You two," he addressed Myles and Richard, "I am in my chamber if anyone should ask and I am not to be disturbed. Best you take yourselves off now." To further embolden them, he produced a fair amount of coin. "I understand there are some bets being placed. Would not wish you absent from the tables." Then, to Lyanna, he said, "My lady, if you would be so kind, I do believe the two of us should talk."

"If Your Grace so desires." Again staring at his mouth. She did that with alarming frequency. Rhaegar took hold of her hand, settling it upon his arm. She moved after him with more grace than before. That might well be due to the more sombre attire she wore, its lack of lace and beads a blessing in itself.

His chamber was empty but for a small servant girl who had brought refreshments from the kitchens. She bowed and hurried out the door a single sign from him, leaving only him and Lyanna. The she-wolf looked about with undisguised curiosity as though she could glean anything from a chamber that was not his. Rhaegar indulged her, enjoying the way her eyes roamed for a little while before jumping back to him and then repeating the same process. He allowed a small smile to show.

"You find it amusing, Your Grace?" Her brow furrowed. She stood in the middle of the chamber, appearing much more a child than before. He supposed he'd forgotten for a moment that she had never seen the King in a foul mood and found some cause for worry in his harsh words. "Would that I had the power to do the same."

"Might be you do," he offered softly. Her frown deepened and confusion surfaced. "Tell me, my lady, how fares you father's bannerman?"

"In no condition to test His Majesty's temper. I do not think it is wise for us to be long without other company." He indicated that she ought to have a seat. She obliged him but only after taking stock of the chairs.

He sat in the seat opposing hers. "My father means to unmask the man. He is even now ordering his knights to unhorse the knight on the morrow. He believes the man a traitor." The worry on her features both pleased and annoyed him. It just so happened that he had an inkling as to who had donned the mismatched armour. "Would that it did not come to that."

"Consorting with the enemy?" his bride queried. She did not quite look into his eyes.

"Not at all. Would that it did not come to bloodshed though. The man had done naught wrong that I can think of." And the longer his father worried, the more unhinged he became, the easier it would be for him to act. Rhaegar reached out for her hand, holding it up. His thumb caressed the smooth skin, contemplating the tiny digits. "If you've heard as little as a whisper, I would know. Best to have it from your lips." He leaned in, bringing their faces inches apart when she mirrored his movement. "Do not forget, lady, you and yours are in my hands." He cupped her cheek with his free hand. "So think well."

Hesitation marred the following moments. The she-wolf remained firmly in place, though her expression betrayed her anxiety. "There is no information I may forward, Your Grace," she said in the end, her own palm covering the hand cradling the side of her face. "You may, of course, visit with Howland Reed to confirm as much."

He drew back, studying her as she did the same. Her frame trembled lightly as though there were some manner of effort involved in sitting still. "You understand you are forfeited any chance to involve yourself," he commented coldly. Best she know what to expect from the very start.

"I was not involved in the first place, Your Grace." She then gave him such an innocent look that he very nearly believed her.

"This night, eyes will be upon out mysterious friend. I want you far away from your father's camp, lady. I know your kin chose to remain there, and I know you spent the first night there. But I cannot permit it this time."

"With what right would you dictate such terms to me?" she demanded, rising her chin a notch.

"A husband's, I daresay. 'Tis dangerous this night. Do not let me catch you, or there shall be consequences." She bristled, looking as though she might protest. Yet a moment later her mien settled into a neutral mask and she inclined her head in apparent acceptance. "Only until the matter of the mystery knight is solved," he soothed gently, willing for whatever reason to placate her.

"I shall leave this keep a bride. I daresay it makes no matter if I part company with my kin this day or a few hence." He shrugged at her answer and stood, moving past her chair towards a small coffer. He glanced over his shoulder; she had not followed his progress nor turned at the sound of the latch being removed. Neither did her interest force her attention to him as he opened the lid and then closed it.

Rhaegar stepped towards the chair until he stood behind her. He lowered something before her face. "Keep this on your person."

It was then that she looked up at him, arching her neck so she might better see him. "A blade, Your Grace?"

"A blade," he confirmed, parting steel from sheath. The low hiss of release accompanied the movement.

"Aoha ondos nyke angogon," she read slowly. She reached out, tracing the engraving. Her flesh was as white as the bark of a weirwood tree against the darkness of the metal.

"Jaos," he explained, finding her smile pleasant reward for the effort. "The first blade I ever received. Trusty weapon as well." She reached for the hilt and pommel, fingers wrapping around the column beneath the guard.

"Aptly named," she commented after a brief pause, reaching for the sheath. Rhaegar released it without protest. She placed the rejoined halves in her lap, eyes glued to the gift he'd bestowed upon her on a whim. "I can only hope it shall not bite me."

"Not should you be a mindful mistress." She seemed not to take not of his words, so concentrated was she on the blade. He touched a hand to her shoulder. She gazed at him once more, unasked questions shining in her eyes. Since he had no wish to indulge her any further, Rhaegar tapped her gently in what was only half-caress. "We are agreed, lady, you will remain in your bedchamber."

She gave a nod but no words. He had to trust she would keep to that. After all, if she did not, she would be the one facing the consequences. "You may depart, if you wish." As though those were the words she'd been waiting for, Lyanna fairly jumped to her feet and took off. He followed her to the door and watched her as she walked down the hallway without a backwards glance.

The Kingsgaurd posted at his door had the presence of mind to keep a straight face. Humour danced in his eyes. "Not a word, Oswell."

"Beg pardon, Your Grace. 'Tis simply the first I've seen a maiden run away from you, not after you." He scowled.

"You'd best prepare yourself for taking down that mystery knight if you've nothing better to do." Oswell crossed his arms over his chest. He gave Rhaegar one of those looks which signalled he was having too much fun at his expense.

"For that I am as prepared as I shall ever be." Rhaegar accepted the response with a shrug before returning to his own chamber, closing the door in his wake. He would need eyes on the she-wolf as well, it seemed. Another thing to worry about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

He tugged on the steed's reins and motioned for Jon to approach. "You are certain she has taken refuge here?" Connington gave a sharp nod, as though he was affronted Rhaegar had even thought to ask. "Make certain no one approaches."

"Is it wise, Your Grace?" the man questioned. "If the girl wants to disobey, you ought to allow it. His Majesty would reconsider the arrangement, I am certain." He had a point. Rhaegar considered the possibility for a moment.

"He would simply find a replacement. I like this one well enough." No sense in exchanging her for a less entertaining version. One which might well mad. "You may let Arthur know, of course. But be certain word gets no further." He rode off before Jon could say another thing to dissuade him.

She waited by the weirwood, the shield of the mystery knight at her feet, not affording the protection it rightly should have. She had a lantern of her own, but did not look up at his approach. At least she presented the proper reaction to the situation. He dismounted, tethering the horse as he'd done before. The entire scene mirrored an earlier encounter.

Only after he stood a step away from her, the folds of her kirtle just shy of touching him, did she glance up. The same dark kirtle she'd worn before, a good enough choice if she were to sneak about into the night. "Well, my lady, I did not think to find you here." Her gaze dropped away. The dim light of his lantern played across her features, softening the sharp lines. "What explanation have you?"

He caught her face between his hands, tipping her head back gently. "Do not play games, Lyanna." Silky strands of hair between his fingers glided ever so gently.

"It is no game." She braced herself against him, settling her hands upon his arms as though she meant to draw strength from him. He let her go. "And I am prepared for whatever consequences you have in mind, Your Grace." She was much too confident for someone who had been caught red-handed.

"Are you?"His grip settled around her waist. He wondered how far he could push, how much she was willing to do to protect whoever it was the shield belonged to. Given she was involved, the options were not precisely endless. "Give me your blade." She froze. Worry wormed its way into her gaze. The distance between them shortened, his lips nearly brushing hers. "The blade. Now." To his surprise, she reached into the soft corset and tugged out the sheathed blade. "Pull it out."

She obeyed. Trembling fingers set the steel free. He stepped back and took possession of the knife. Her chest rose and fell, laboured breathing letting him know she was not indifferent to her current position. He set the edge against the thin skin of her throat. "Give me one reason why I should not spill your blood."

Her silence was slow to find its ending. "How are you going to collect your due if you cut me?" How would he indeed? "When you are my husband, I shall obey you, Your Grace. But not a moment before then."

Something ugly reared its head. She was still harbouring notions of escape. Rhaegar threw the knife from him, uncaring where it landed. He sneered. "Your gods are watching. What better moment than this?"

Her arms flew around his neck. The weight bowed him forth slightly. Her lips slanted against his, the kiss bitter with the tinge of frenzy. "The knight must disappear." It was a plea. The tremor in her voice gave her away. She awarded another kiss, this time an entreaty for understanding.

"And how am I to know that you shall heed this bargain?" She did not pause for a single moment. Instead she turned and pointed at the weirwood watching them.

"You said it yourself, Your Grace. We are in the presence of the gods. And if words should fail, it comes to deeds." He understood her meaning well enough that he faltered. Whoever she was protecting, they should count themselves fortunate. She touched her hand to his shoulder. "What better moment than this?" she repeated, urging him on.

He should press her into Connington's arms and have her dragged before his father. She would give away every secret buried deep into her little scheming, deceitful heart. But that would be admitting defeat. His father would forever lord such a victory over his head. One way or the other, he had to be the winner of it. Gently, he pushed her backwards, advancing to her retreat. Her back hit bark and his foot kicked the shield away from them. He heard glass cracking and the light disappeared. The darkness would offer enough protection.

Despite her general willingness, there was no way around the fact that she had little enough idea of what to do beside angling her head to the side. "Lift your skirts," he whispered against her lips. She pressed firmer into him, but failed to follow his instructions. For a moment he thought he might have shocked her. "Skirts," he repeated in equally gentle tones, grabbing hold of the heavy cloth, tugging it upwards. Her hand brushed his in its descent. He minded his own preparations.

From there on, settling against one another as two halves of a whole was as easy as breathing. He struck true, lodging deep within her. A raspy gasp brushed against his cheek. "Easy, easy," he murmured, patting her head. Blood, warm and slick, helped him along. "Breathe."

She exhaled. "Is it over?" For an answer he pressed his lips to hers, coaxing her gently.

"Almost."

And then it was.

He ran his hands up and down his sides, keeping her from tipping over once he finally placed her on her feet. She leaned into him, head resting against his chest, shoulders hunched over, making her seem even smaller than she was.

She looked up. "The knight."

"Will disappear," he promised. "Now come along. You've three brothers and I should like them to remain none the wiser to this." He had a distinct feeling any explanations of the wide-spread custom of anticipating one's marriage vows would not go well with any of her kin, and he would doubtlessly meet Brandon during the tilts.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. v - monsters

 

 

 

 

 

 

The woman’s continual twittering set Lyanna on edge. She still hand resting gently over her heart, eyeing the knights with a patently placid expression. Lady Ashara laughed, presumably at her own jest. Lyanna had tried keeping up with her, but all she managed was to give herself a headache. Apparently, and she had barely pieced that much together through some effort, the Dornishwoman was to serve as one of her ladies. As to that, she had naught to say.

Her more pressing concerns revolved around the King and his fiendish gaze. While she did her best not to favour him with her attention in any blatant manner and he likewise ignored her presence, as though uncomfortable and wary, she could not help but notice it. The look of pure, unadulterated hatred. A sad thing, as far as she was concerned. For a parent to be so deeply entrenched into a negative view of their own offspring could be nothing but a perversion of the natural bond between parent and child.

Forcing her attention back to the small herald, she did not bother trying to read his lips. The distance between them was too wide for her to give an accurate interpretation to his words. What she could managed, however, was to spy one of the squires trying, without much success, to subtly remove a fallen gauntlet from the tracks. She wondered whether the Prince would fall. It would serve him right if he did. On the other hand, it seemed rather uncharitable to treat that potential outcome with such irreverence. His victory was her victory.

Doubtlessly such a feat would suffuse his mood, in turn making the Prince somewhat easier to rub along with. Her breath caught at the sight of her soon-to-be husband. His armour at the very least was a work of art, even if the man within the suit had not been equally blessed by the gods. Light reflected off the polished metal, his heavy wooden lance with its blunted tip held vertically against his side. Black and red stripes ran along the masterfully sculpted wood. She had seen the thing up close during the morning when he had come to her chamber. His squire was carrying it.

In truth, in the light of day he was nowhere near as frightening as he’d been cloaked in darkness. Still imposing, without a doubt, but not menacing. Nevertheless, one lesson was more than enough for her. She would not push him further and he would not get another chance to lock her in an untenable position.

A twinge, distant discomfort surged along with the memory. In truth, the terror had been more painful than the act itself. But she found she her reluctance to name a reaction even more curious. It occurred to her she might make better use of her judgement in the future, insofar as her future husband was concerned. A wily one, and she would do well to recall that. Brandon could not advise her. She had meant to ask guidance from him, but the more she considered the notion, the less appealing it became.

At that precise moment, might be for the very reason that she was thinking of him, her brother caught her eye from his place in the stands. He had lost to the prince, but seemed none the worse for wear. In fact, he’d found ample consolation by the look he sported meantime. She would have gone to him but for the fact she would have had to do so in the company of Lady Ashara. Judging by the woman’s incessant prattling, her brothers would not thank her for it.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she missed the whole of the action, snapping to only when the very audible cheers of the crowd rang in her ears. She saw with some horror that the tip of the striped lance landed before her face, just shy of bruising her. A crown dangled from it.

Blue roses. She feared her eyes might glaze over if she allowed herself a moment to breath in the scent, thus without much fuss and a great deal of restraint, she gingerly cupped the blooms and tugged the crown to rest upon her lap. A flush stole over her cheeks as she belatedly realised she could interpret the scene in another fashion altogether.

As to what the response of the rest of the world was, she did not manage to catch it, busy as she was staring into the face of the Prince. As was his custom, he held her gaze, seemingly filled with pride at his accomplishment. He offered a cold sort of smile, a simple enough tug at one corner, making him look boyish. In spite of the obvious handsomeness, he did have something of his father, a rather aged look, as if his gallop had earned him a decade.

She stood, not quite knowing what else to do, but her companion motioned to the crown. Understanding without further explanation, she passed a smile upon her face and arranged the crown as best she could without the benefit of a looking glass. Small brambles caught in her hair, giving her the notion that she might have foreseen the need to wear a veil. The heat of the day had dissuaded her. That being the case, she hoped, ever so dearly, that she would not need to take it down before she reached her chamber.

Her attempt was met with a resounding success as the cheers rose once more. While she would have liked nothing better than to slink away and lock herself out of sight, she straightened her back and raised her hand in gentle greeting. Vague sounds coming from her companion assured her that Lady Ashara was not yet at a loss for words, even if she herself could not understand anything. She felt the other’s hand upon her arm, gently guiding her back to her seat.     

To her relief, however, her moment of fame died away along with the noise of the crowd. And she could breathe in relief. Yet not for too long, as her betrothed’s actions seemed to bring the King’s attention solely upon her. If there were some manner in which one could transfer one’s feelings from one individual to another, she imagined one might look as the monarch did in that moment. She kept her own counsel, hesitating to respond to the obvious malice she saw in his gaze. Her hand travelled to the crown of roses, touching the side of it in what she knew would look like a self-conscious manner. The show of fragility eased some of the man’s anger.

While one should never wish for feebleness as a trait by which to guide oneself, it did have its uses in small doses. Her own safety assured for the time being, Lyanna sank into her seat and allowed the rest of the procession to pass by her, paying little mind to the receiving of the prize and the few words exchanged.

In the end, she found herself in the company of her brother, held by the hand as though she were a child. While she knew it contributed to the image her father wished her to present, she could not help but feel conflicted. Brandon, nonetheless, tugged on her gently, bending to whisper, “You have certainly made a conquest of the Prince. Here he comes yet again.” She gave little outward reaction to his approach.

And before long Brandon was yet again facing the other man. “Your Grace.” He bowed in his own manner, deferring not at all to the common rules of courtesy. As expected his future good-brother gave no attention to his antics. Instead, Lyanna managed to catch a question. Her brother’s response was both unexpected and amusing. She heard him only because he raised his voice slightly. “I daresay, it would be best for my sister to return to our father’s camp.”

“One does wonder at such closeness between siblings.” He reached out for her with a compelling look. Knowing very well she denied him at her peril, Lyanna simply looked up at her brother, a wealth of pleading in her eyes. She attempted to let him know he need not worry, but could not say whether she was successful or not. Pulling herself away from his gasp, she took hold of her voluminous skirts and stepped towards the prince, wondering why precisely he wished her presence so very near him.

“A very sad thing Your Grace has no such closeness of his own,” Brandon snapped uncharitably. Lyanna would have chided him, but she did not think her intervention would be appreciated.

“Not all of us can we equally fortunate,” the Prince replied, applying his barb with the greatest care as he placed her hand upon his arm. “Although I do not, you understand, complain of my current position.” Sometimes she wished her brother were in possession of a less fiery temper. It would certainly make needling him a lot less satisfactory for the Prince.

Since she could not effect a change upon her brother’s countenance, she might instead attempt to get away. “Brandon,” she interrupted, attracting all attention upon her, “father would wish you to keep watch over Benjen. Who knows what manner of mischief that boy can find?” Clearly her brother saw right through her. He did make his excuses though and departed, presumably to find their father and make a complaint as to her current company. She eyed her betrothed warily.

“Do you know, my lady, your brother is quite safe from me. I make a point of not needlessly participating into confrontations.” She dug her fingers into his arm, wondering why it was he did not react. “Although I seem to recall you promised me obedience and now you shy away from your duty. Some confrontations I do not back away from.”

“Your Grace is being most unfair. I did my best to comply.” He led her away from the knights and ladies milling about. Not before, however, she managed to catch a look he sent her soon-to-be lady-in-waiting. Ashara Dayne had found her brother and leaned against his arm, ostensibly flirting with Ser Oswell Whent. Might be ‘twas not her compliance he wanted of her, but merely to position her in such a manner that he may better use her.

Ashara Dayne was, after all, a great beauty in her own right. It did not surprise her in the least that a young man might take a liking to her. Her own brothers had commented, albeit fugitively, upon her general aspect. For some off reason, though, the thought that her husband might so blatantly admire another woman. Her companion looked up. She offered a cheery smile and a swift nod, before returning to her flirtation.

Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, the Prince returned his attention upon her. “Since I cannot be certain that brother of yours shan’t make further attempt to intervene, I suggest we retreat to my chamber, lady.”

“I see no issue with that line of thinking.” Her acceptance was met with a hurrying of his pace. A soft sigh left her lips as she hitched her skirts once more to easier keep up with him. She almost wished her brother would come by once more.

He paid little enough mind to her struggle to keep up with his pace, and she recalled Ser Dayne hadn’t either. Might be men simply did not see the value in exercising some patience. “Your Grace, if you are looking to lay me flat this is indeed the way to go.” He drew up short forcing her to halt as well. Her precarious balance suffered yet another blow when her heel caught in the small train of her skirts.

“I believe you and I shall get on well enough,” he chuckled. He allowed her a few moments to regain her balance before setting an easier pace for her to follow. This time she managed admirably well. No cloth disturbed her, no setback upon the way distracted her and certainly her own anxiety did not, for a moment, hold her back. In truth ‘twas the constant pull that did not allow her to back away.

Whether anyone found their conduct lesser than it ought to be, none dared approach. The only man who might have raised objections was the King and he, for whatever reason, did not care to intervene. And so she found herself in the intimate setting of the Prince’s private temporary chamber. In that moment, his eyes upon her, he resembled his father so much that a shiver ran down her spine. This man would be the father of her children. The inevitability of the fact struck her hard. “How can you know if we shall get on well?” she questioned at long last. “You think I will submit?”

“To the degree that is wise, I am certain you shall,” he allowed, taking off his gauntlets with deceptive ease. She walked around him tugging on the pauldron, easing the burden of the steel. He did not comment upon her daring, instead opting to continue his speech. “But there is a spark of defiance to you, lady, and I shan’t pretend one can tame such a creature. He took off the twin, and she began tugging on the gorget. It eased from around his throat. “But I trust you cherish your neck enough to not needlessly test me.” The plackart and breastplate followed.  She allowed him to take care of the rest as she pondered her response.

“Might be, Your Grace, I do not deserve to be where I am in the first place and you would do better to be rid of me before I can cause trouble.” He snapped to attention. Cautiously she backed away from him and sat down upon the edge of the bed, eyeing his face unabashedly. He cocked his head to the side, an unspoken question reflecting upon his visage.

“What manner of monster are you then, lady?” He had managed to rid himself of the more uncomfortable parts of the armour, enough that he might make himself comfortable upon the edge of the bed.

“I killed my mother’s companion.” The words were out before she cloud stop them. Why she made such a confession to him Lyanna could not rightly say, except that she saw some derision in his gaze and could not help it. Nonplussed, her betrothed rubbed the back of his neck.

“How?” For a brief moment she thought he had not understood her. Lyanna almost repeated herself, but in the end she decided against it.

“I was sick. Ellyn took care of me. In the end she succumbed to the disease.” She fervently hoped, when she finally managed to look into his eyes, that he would not reward her with pity. And there was none to see.

He reached for the crown of flowers caught in her hair and lifted it away. Dark tendrils shot in the wake of its ascension. They fell back down. He pushed the wisps out of her face. The crown fell to the ground. “Sick, were you?” His voice was so quiet that she could not be certain she’d read his lips right for the first word. “Were you labouring under the belief that I wanted a saint for a wife?”

“I killed someone.”

“Aye. I expect you are not the only woman who has done so.” He leaned in, wrapping one arm around her waist. “We are all monsters here. The important thing is to learn when to let the beast out.” He drew back. “Lady Ellyn. Was she some manner of kin?”

“On my mother’s side. She was a Flint.” She felt his fingers tugging on the girdle hugging her waist. The beads and cloth fell to the ground with a faint sound. Her skirts trembled. “I loved her. Better than I ever did my lady mother. I wish she had died instead.” She was giving too much away. Not even her father was privy to such knowledge.

He tugged on the laced at her sides. Lyanna had an unmistakable desire to push his hand away. “How can you stand there before me and not react?” He patted her side, then stroked up and down as though dealing with a spooked filly.

“I am reacting.” He drew her fully upon the bed, pushing her back against the pillows. Eyes wide she half-expected that he would do as he had done before the weirwood. In some ways she would have welcomed the contact. There was something in the inherently human experience, something which anchored. But he did not. Instead he rose and moved to the washstand, dipping a clean cloth in water.

The sight of small droplets falling down brought her attention to the fact that wetness slid down her cheek. The pad of her finger brushed a fat teardrop away and just like that a pounding in her head alerted her to the fact that she was weeping in the manner a small child might. And she was thankful he kept such a firm control upon his own emotions. Or might be he found little to empathise with in her plight. Whatever the reason, his cool manner allowed her to indulge.

The cool cloth slid in place at the back of her neck once he’d turned her on her side. “Sleep. Your head must pain you.” He made no mention of any other ill effects which could be encouraged by such behaviour. What he did do was brush his fingers through her hair, his manner vaguely paternal. It only served to remind her of the many years between them. And she feared, not for the first time, that she was putting herself in the path of a tragedy waiting to happen.

Too confused and much too tired to mull over any of it for a moment longer, she closed her eyes with a soft sniffle. He did not stop stroking. And she felt herself sinking lower and lower, the ministrations lulling her into slumber. When she woke she did not doubt she’d find ample reason to berate herself, for Ellyn, certainly, and for her confounded weakness, might be even for the fact that she had been soothed by a man whose comfort she did not wish for.  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. VERY IMPORTANT

Hi everyone,

Sol here. So, I’m sure you’ve heard about the new link-tax and copyright reform the EU is looking to introduce into the member states of the union. To those of you who haven’t or are not from the EU, basically this new piece of legislation is looking into regulating all activities dependent on content (be it videos, songs, news articles, books etc). They would do that by monitoring what the users of a platform post and if copyrighted content is determined to be used, it would be considered criminal activity.

The only way it wouldn’t be deemed criminal activity is if the users paid a tax (hence why we call it a link-tax).

The vote will be held on the 20th of June and in case the law gets passed, I think it’s obvious I won’t be able to post anymore on any platform (be it this or FF.net or some other site). So what happens is this:  I am starting to archive all of my fics. Those of you who want to request a certain fic can find me [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Further updates information is: [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Questions are welcome, but for discretion’s sake, sensitive ones are better posted on discord, or if you must on my e-mail address.

Thank you for your time and sorry to bring you somewhat unpleasant news.

P.S. Every story with more than 20 subs will get a post like this. If you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. I’ll take them down after the 20th.


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